Worthy
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: While in the safe haven of Lothlorien, Boromir thinks about all he knows is to come.


**Disclaimer:  **I don't own the characters or the situations.  They belong to Tolkien.  The quotes in italics are also not mine.  They were taken from the movie 'The Fellowship of the Ring'.

**Notes:  Short Boromir piece centered on the idea of him being very restless within Lothlorien.  The thoughts about him not being a hero aren't my view, but they fit nicely with how I imagine he saw himself as points.**

**Worthy**

_By Bohemian Storm_

            Elves sing and his mind is clouded with confusion.  He can hear their voices, the clear ringing in the night air, but he cannot place it.  He does not belong here, in beautiful Lothlorien.  

            He is not worthy of the gifts this place has to give to him and that hurts him.  

            There is pain.  There has always been pain, but now he feels it more distinctly than ever before; it is the only thing he can feel.  It has always been there lurking silently on the edges of his sanity, but never before has it felt so real, so palpable.  He wants to take his sword to it, to use his shield as protection against it, but he cannot. Nothing he does will stave off the pain. 

            He wants to be the one restores the glory of Gondor.  He wants to be the saviour of them all; his father, his brother, the White Tower.  He wants to see it rise proudly against the blue sky and know that he has been part of it.  He wants to know that his efforts have led to the rise of his city.  He has imagined it would all be real.  When he was a child there had been no doubt in his mind as to the path of his life.  He knew what he was and what his life was worth.  He knew exactly what needed to be done in order to make things right.  He has to be the one to make the world right once more.

            He needs no help.

            He meant it when he said that Gondor needed no king.  He believed he was so strong, and yet the pain now is unimaginable.  It is inside of him, trendils curling within his head.  She has entered him somehow, is asking him questions and finding the answer without his permission.  She knows.  She knows everything.

            _'Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all.'_

            He needs not her words.  He knows he is guilty before she enters, unbidden, searching the recesses of his mind for her answers.  She explores him, tears away layers, and strips him down until there is nothing left but his darkest desires.  The light around her is so white, but he sees only the darkness that he will swear lives within her.  

            He is trembling, not meaning to, but revealing everything to her with his movements.  He has always known.  He has always felt it inside of him.  He is weak and the Ring influences him.  He wants it, he yearns for it.  He wants nothing more than to feel the cool metal sliding beneath his war stained fingers.  

            To hold the Ring would mean knowing the strength of the world.  It is all he wants, yet it is the only thing he cannot have.

_            'Yet hope remains while the company is true.' _

            She lurks inside him, giving him no rest, no peace.  Her words echo, whispering his own secrets against his ears.  He looks away; he cannot stand to see her eyes any longer.  There is pain in her eyes, for she knows the downfall he will bring upon the ring bearer.  She knows what consequences his hand will set into play.  He knows not what she sees hidden beneath his guilt and he does not want to know.  He fears that if he knows he will do all he can to prevent it and nothing will change.

            He knows his place, his role.  He fears what he is to do, but his pride speaks louder than his sanity.  His pain will overwhelm him and he knows he will take the Ring.  

            As they leave her grace, he wonders if she sees his fate.

            _'I will find no rest here.  I heard a voice inside my head; she spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor.  She said to me, even now there is hope left, but I cannot see it.  It is long since we had any hope.'_

            He does not believe in hope, only power.  He has lived so long without it that he can no longer see the hope living within all the creatures he travels with.  He cannot see it in the eyes of the hobbits, ignoring what he believes it benevolence when they smile at each other.  They are so kind hearted and he admires that, but he doesn't see how one so small shall save the entire world.

            He feels undeserving of their smiles and their kindness.

            He wants to believe in the ring bearer, but it all appears so hopeless.  He has agreed to the quest only in hopes of convincing the Ranger that the Ring holds the future of Gondor.  Thus far he has been unsuccessful and now there is so much guilt.  He feels dishonoured, as though the future King can read him mind as well.  His betrayal will wound them all.

            He feels as though he was never worthy of their trust.

            He lies restless, the others in his company asleep or warily watchful of the night.  The Wizard is gone, but the Ranger and the Elf will not let pain fall upon the others under their guard.  He wonders what they think of him, lying on the floor of the wood, staring at the stars.  He wonders if they know he will not be with them for much longer.

            He does not know how he knows this even, but he feels it as certainly as he has always known his place as a warrior.  Whether by death or dishonour, he will leave the Fellowship soon and he will sink into the background of the story, forgotten by all but his family.  He will not be one of the heroes.

            He wishes for peace, but she will not deliver it unto him this night and so he lies awake, listening to the singing of the elves.  Fleetingly, he thinks of being called home by the clear ringing of a silver trumpet and a smile graces his face.

            Gondor is peace to him and he knows that he will never see his home again.

            The elves sing on, a lament to the Wizard, he imagines, and he falls asleep to the sound of their voices.

            He is not worthy of their beauty.

End


End file.
